


The Party

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Gen, M/M, Pining, Tooth-rotting child cuteness, minor background Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: In the days leading up to their annual Christmas Eve party, John struggles with his work-life balance, his energetic daughter, plans for their Christmas party, and his feelings for Sherlock.





	The Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kabes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabes/gifts).



_20 th December_

_ale, wine & mixers_

_nuts, crisps_

_Xmas napkins & plates_

_table cloth_

_Gingerbread house for Rosie, cookies & biscuits, mince pies_

_Cheese tray, veg, see if butchers have specials?_

Mate, you coming to xmas at ours?

John {Sent 17:25}

Christ are you 2 trying

to host your shit parties again?

GL {Received 18:01}

Is that a yes?

John {Sent 18:05}

Yes that’s a yes. God I’m

pathetic.

GL {Received 18:08}

Yeah you are.

John {Sent 18:18}

Piss off.

GL {Received 18:20}

 

_ale, wine & mixers_

_nuts, crisps_ ** _&_** **_those sesame things_**

_Xmas napkins & plates_

_table cloth_ ** _Why?_** _Because the table looks like you’ve disemboweled a body on it!_

 _Gingerbread house for Rosie, cookies & biscuits, mince pies_ **_Ask Mrs. Hudson, she’ll be thrilled_**

_Cheese tray, veg, see if butchers have specials?_

 

Harriet Watson  <[h.watson@citybranch.com](mailto:h.watson@citybranch.com)>

20 December 2018 at 19:10

Subject: The Party

Harry,

Sherlock, Rosie and I are throwing a party on Christmas Eve at ours. Starts at 5 PM…I know it’s a bit early, but we want Rosie to be there, and she’s a horror if she misses her regular bedtime routine. We’d like it if you could be there. Bring a date if you like. We’re providing the eats, and there’ll be plenty of non-alcoholic drink as well.

John

 

_~~ale, wine & mixers ~~ LEMONADE, SODA & SPARKLING WATER!!!_

~~_nuts, crisps_ ** _&_** **_those sesame things_**~~

_Xmas napkins & plates_

_table cloth_ **_Why?_** _Because the table looks like you’ve disemboweled a body on it!_

 _Gingerbread house for Rosie, cookies & biscuits, mince pies_ **_Ask Mrs. Hudson, she’ll be thrilled_**

_Cheese tray, veg, see if butchers have specials? Should I just make sandwiches?_

          “Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper “I love you,” birds singin’ in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me,” Sherlock crooned softly, swaying in place. His dark head was tilted, his face open and tender as he smiled down at Rosie, who lay quiescent in his arms, her sleepy eyes gazing raptly at his face as he sang to her. It had become their nightly ritual sometime after John and Rosie had moved back in, and both man and child seemed to find it comforting.

          John stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, arms crossed over his damp t-shirt and smiled as he watched them. If someone had told him, just a few years ago, that Sherlock Holmes would be an expert bather of toddlers, and use his deep voice and musical talent to send said toddler off to sleep without fuss, he’d have never believed it.

          He’d also never have believed how fiercely his heart would ache with longing to join them, to wrap his arm around Sherlock’s waist and lean his head against his shoulder and watch as their girl slipped into dreams. Somewhere between pain and grief, healing and hope, they had come back together, and as the years slipped by with almost startling speed, they had forged a life for the three of them. Sherlock had ensured that John never felt alone or overwhelmed during those years, in fact providing more support and practical assistance than anyone would be likely to believe.

          Sometimes it was a struggle; John with his rage and his grief and the guilty feeling of being trapped into being the sole responsible parent. Sherlock floundering under a deluge of new emotions, old habits, his bugaboo boredom and drug addiction. It might have been a recipe for disaster, but instead it had served as a solid foundation for happiness. In the last nearly three years, they’d gone from two men bumbling through raising a child, to a family unit who functioned with admirable efficiency and palpable love.

          Almost without noticing, John had been falling in love all that time.

          The only times he could let himself bask in the feeling was at night, when Sherlock would cradle Rosie in his arms and sing her to sleep. He’d stand in the doorway and watch the two people he loved most in the world, and let his heart swell until it threatened to burst and flood the room with inappropriate emotion. Once Sherlock had Rosie settled, he’d turn around and John would smile affably and suggest a cup of tea and they would return downstairs to their normal routine.

          He wanted more, but if _more_ meant risking the happiest he’d been in years, he wasn’t taking that chance. There were worst fates in life than to be in a platonic domestic partnership with someone you loved, trusted, respected and admired.

 

******

 

_21 st December _

John is making me invite

you to our party. I’d like you

to say no.

SH {Sent 08:48}

 

Do tender my regrets to Dr. Watson.

MH {Received 08:49}

 

Martha Hudson’s Recipe for Mince Pie

For the filling:

One large jar mincemeat (about 600g)

Two satsumas, segmented

One apple, finely chopped

zest one lemon 

little icing sugar, for dusting

 

For the pastry:

375g plain flour

260g unsalted butter, softened

125g caster sugar, plus extra for sprinkling

1 large egg, plus 1 beaten egg for glazing

 

Place the flour and butter in a bowl and rub together to a crumb consistency. Add the sugar and the egg and…

          “Sherlock, would you create a holiday music playlist for the party?”

          “Let me think…no.”

          “Sherlock, make a bloody playlist.”

          “…fine.”

         

Is your brother going to be there?

GL {Received 12:22}

 

Who is this?

SH {Sent 12:31}

 

Ha bloody ha.

GL {Received 12:32}

Is he going to be there?

GL {Received 12:32}

 

No.

SH {Sent 12:49}

 

_~~ale, wine & mixers ~~ LEMONADE, SODA & SPARKLING WATER!!!_

~~_nuts, crisps_ **_&_** **_those sesame things_**~~

_Xmas napkins & plates_

_Table cloth_ **_Why?_** _Because the table looks like you’ve disemboweled a body on it!_

 _Gingerbread house for Rosie, ~~cookies & biscuits, mince pie~~s_ **_Ask Mrs. Hudson, she’ll be thrilled_** _(She was, ta, Sherlock)_

_Cheese tray, veg, see if butchers have specials? Should I just make sandwiches?_

_Mistletoe_

_greenery (ask Mrs. H where to get)_

_party dress for Ro_

_new shirt for me?_ **_God yes, please buy a new shirt._ **

****

John Watson  <[jhw@powernet.net](mailto:jhw@powernet.net)>

21 December 2018 at 11:53

Subject: Re: The Party

Johnny,

   Thanks for the invite, I’d love to come see my niece—and you of course! I’ve got her a little something, will she be there? It will just be me, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment…you know they say the first year of trying to dry out you should avoid relationships. Which works out for me, since relationships are avoiding me, haha.

   I thought about going to Inverness for the holidays, see Aunt Harriet and her family, but honestly they all drink so much I don’t think it would be a good idea for me. Still, been a while since we’ve seen them. Fancy bringing my niece and joining me in the New Year? We could go for a weekend, share a hotel room? Let me know what you think.

   I saw from the newspapers that your clever friend solved another head-scratcher for the police. He’s been a bit out of the limelight these last few years, it’s almost a surprise to see his name in the paps. Hope it doesn’t give you three any more trouble with the gossip rags.

   Can I bring anything to the party?

Harry <3

 

          It was an adorable little dress; green velveteen, with smocking, a lace collar, and a very full skirt. There was a satin tartan sash and Molly had even included matching hair bows, white tights and a tiny pair of black patent leather Mary Janes. John folded the dress carefully back into the nest of tissue paper and stood up and circled the small table to hug her. “Molly, this is gorgeous, thank you! Ro will love it.”

          She flushed with pleasure, “I couldn’t resist it was so adorable. I was shopping for Colin’s nieces and when I saw it I knew it would be perfect for Rosie.” She fingered the lace collar, “They’re all a bit bigger and wouldn’t want to wear something like this.”

          “You’re a great godmother, Molls,” John assured her, watching her wistful face as she smoothed the dress and tucked it back into its neat wrapping. She was finally over her crush on Sherlock and her painful humiliation over being forced to confess her love. It had taken over a year for her to be comfortable in the same room as her former love interest, and it wasn’t until a few months later that she’d finally accepted a date from Colin Woodhull, a researcher at Bart’s. They were quietly happy, and John held out hope that one person out of the entire mess with Eurus wasn’t going to end up alone and scarred.

          “Rosie’s easy to spoil,” Molly said, smiling. She picked up her tea cup, “So how go the plans for the party?”

 

_~~ale, wine & mixers~~  LEMONADE, SODA & SPARKLING WATER!!!_

~~_nuts, crisps_ **_&_** **_those sesame things_**~~

_Xmas napkins & plates_

_table cloth_ **_Why?_** _Because the table looks like you’ve disemboweled a body on it!_

 _Gingerbread house for Rosie, ~~cookies & biscuits, mince pies~~_ **_Ask Mrs. Hudson, she’ll be thrilled_** _(She was, ta, Sherlock)_

_Cheese tray, veg, see if butchers have specials? Should I just make sandwiches?_ **_The thing with peas?_ **

_~~Mistletoe~~_ **_mistletoe_**

_greenery (ask Mrs. H where to get)_

~~_party dress for Ro_ ~~

_new shirt for me?_ **_God yes, please buy a new shirt._**

 

          “It looks as if Charles Dickens sicked all over the flat.”

          John snorted, and left the ribbon he’d been fiddling with. He was only making it look worse, and anyway, Mrs. Hudson would come along behind them and fix everything as she always did. “If by that you mean it looks festive, yeah, you’re right.”

          He saw the smile Sherlock repressed, and grinned at him, “I think we’ve done enough damage here, don’t you? Rosie will be asleep for a bit longer…tea and crap telly?”

          “I’ll find something dreadful to watch, you make the tea,” Sherlock agreed happily.

          Soon they were sitting on the sofa, tea cups cradled in hand, a suitably mindless program on as they nibbled on sandwiches. “Rather chilly, don’t you think?” Sherlock inquired idly.

          “Shall I light the fire?” John asked, already rising. He took care of it efficiently and resumed his seat. He noticed that Sherlock seemed to be sitting more toward the middle than before, and debated sitting in his chair, but his arse made the decision for him and was already plumping down on the cushion before he could think otherwise.

          “It’s nice.”

          John looked away from the screen toward his friend, “What is?”

          “This.” Sherlock gestured around vaguely, glanced at him, “Home.”

          “It is,” John agreed, happiness blooming inside him again. Damn it, when would Sherlock stop saying these things? Was he trying to erase the last of John’s self-control and good intentions? At the same time, John was tenderly touched that Sherlock felt comfortable expressing himself that way. He took a firm grip on his thigh, rather than reach for Sherlock’s hand.

          “I like it,” Sherlock said, only sounding slightly awkward. He was staring at the telly, his ears looking faintly pink. “Having you and Rosie here…knowing that when I wake up I won’t be alone.”

          “Hey,” John said gently, hearing that particular _something_ in Sherlock’s tone which he had become accustomed to over the last few years. Before his sister played her head games, before his selected memories had come back…Sherlock hadn’t ever used that tone. But on occasion, now, John would hear it. It meant strong emotions were hiding beneath his calm surface. “Of course you won’t be alone.”

          “I was alone before. Before you.”

          “I was alone before you too,” John said through a tight throat, desperate to take Sherlock’s hand. He ached inside with how badly he wanted to pull Sherlock to him and just hold him. Just that.

          “You’ve got Rosie now.” Sherlock looked at him, eyes steady, shadowed. “You’ve got your feet under you, emotionally as well as financially…one of these days you’re going to be ready to—to leave.”

          John grabbed the remote from the arm of the sofa and turned off the television, leaving his tea cup on the table, and turned sideways, drawing one leg up onto the sofa. “Sherlock,” he said firmly, kindly, “I’m…I’m not going anywhere. Me _or_ Rosie. We’re here for good.” He felt himself flush as he heard the yearning in his voice—the inappropriate level of passion for someone talking to a friend, and hoped he hadn’t given himself away. “For as long as you want us,” he amended, trying to sound jokey, less intense.

          The light in Sherlock’s extraordinary eyes shifted, and he tilted his head slightly, as if catching a fragment of a song playing in a distant room. “And if I don’t wish you to ever leave?”

          “Then you’ve got us forever,” John said, wondering if his voice rang with the emotion fighting inside him, emotion as tangible as any object around them. Unspoken words of longing, of ardor, of love, rolled in his throat, coating his insides as thick and sweet as fudge.

          “Forever,” was all Sherlock said, but he sounded satisfied, and he turned and faced the television, smiling slightly.

          Heart fluttering and rustling like a panicked bird, John faced forward again and turned the telly back on, absurdly relieved when his phone chirped. He picked it up and swiped to wake his screen. “Got a text from Greg.”

          “Oh?” Sherlock sounded interested, but not with any intensity. His interest in cases was a calmer, more manageable thing now; time had taught him more patience and indeed, he worked fewer cases with the Yard. No longer quite as dependent on puzzles for distraction, he would pick and choose with more discrimination these days.

          “Yeah, he…” John stopped, read his message again, fought a grin, “It’s uh, nothing.”

          “That is not the smile of a man who has just read nothing.” Sherlock accused.

          “Really, not important.” John tucked his mobile in his trouser pocket and stood, gathering his tea cup, “Ready for another?”

          Sherlock regarded him suspiciously, “You’re not planning another surprise party for me, are you?”

          “God no,” John hastened to assure him, shuddering at the memory of the previous January, and the train wreck his “surprise” party had been. “Never again.”

          “Then why can’t you tell me?”

          “It’s to do with the over-forties football league he’s forming,” John lied smoothly. “You’re not interested are you? Going to be every other Sunday…we could leave Ro at the sitters and go together.” He smiled a bit smugly, “Now that you’re over forty…”

          As he’d known it would, the suggestion successfully derailed Sherlock from his pursuit of the cause for Greg’s text. In the kitchen he poured himself another tea and rummaged for the biscuits, sending a reply one handed. Next time he saw Greg he was going to ask just what this was all about. Pausing, he held his phone, considering, and then sent another text, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake.

 

_22 nd December_

Harriet Watson  <[h.watson@citybranch.com](mailto:h.watson@citybranch.com)>

22 December 2018 at 07:12

Subject: Re: The Party

Johnny,

   If it’s not terribly awkward, could I bring my sponsor? His wife died last year, and he’ll be alone on Christmas Eve…and it’s hard during the holidays for an ex-drinker. Ernest is a very nice man and he even knows a few magic tricks if the evening needs livening. Don’t feel bad if the answer is no, I haven’t mentioned the possibility to him yet as I wanted to clear it with you and Sherlock. But Ernest has been there for me these last few years, and I’d like to return the favour.

Harry <3

 

Harry, he’s very welcome :)

John {Sent 08:38}

Ta, Johnny!

Harry {Received 09:02}

 

 

 

_~~ale, wine & mixers~~  LEMONADE, SODA & SPARKLING WATER!!!_

~~_nuts, crisps_ ~~ **_~~&~~ _ ** **_~~those sesame things~~ _ ** **_Need more sesame things_ **

_Xmas napkins & plates_

_table cloth_ **_Why?_** _Because the table looks like you’ve disemboweled a body on it!_

 _Gingerbread house for Rosie, ~~cookies & biscuits, mince pies~~_ **_Ask Mrs. Hudson, she’ll be thrilled_** _(_ _She was, ta, Sherlock)_

_Cheese tray, veg, see if butchers have specials? Should I just make sandwiches?_ **_~~The thing with peas?~~ _ **

_~~Mistletoe~~_ **_mistletoe_** _Not for the party—I only make that for you_

_greenery (ask Mrs. H where to get)---tree lot behind St. Anne’s_

~~_party dress for Ro_ ~~

_~~new shirt for me?~~ _ **_~~God yes, please buy a new shirt.~~ _ ** **_Actually, never mind that, John._ **

**_milk_ **

**_lightbulbs_ **

**_new kitchen knives_ **

**_sleepytime bubble bath_ **

**_pomegranates_ **

**_sawdust_ **

**_Roquefort_ **

**_honeycomb_ **

**_bleach_ **

**_bin liners_ **

**_that ice cream I like_ **

**_that ice cream Rosie likes_ **

****

          “Sherlock, why are you requesting sawdust, bleach and kitchen knives? There’s nothing wrong with the ones we have.” John closed his eyes, leaned his elbows on his work desk and sighed, “Let me amend that: there _was_ nothing wrong with them when I went to bed last night.”

          “Wiggins and I might have had a slight mishap in the lab.” Sherlock was entirely too breezy.

          Pinching the bridge of his nose for patience, “You were using our kitchen knives in the lab?”

          “…possibly.”

          “Bugger. What were you doing, dismembering a body—you know what, scratch that, don’t want to know. And we don’t need ice cream; I just bought some the other day.”

          “It’s gone.”

          “What? All of it?”

          “Yes.” Sherlock was bright. “We ate it.”

          “We? We as in you and Wiggins? Were you hungry after hacking apart the corpse?” John glanced up at the sound of a stifled gasp at his door, saw the pale face of the clinic admin and smiled sheepishly, trying not to look like a corpse defiler. “Radio gag,” he whispered, covering the receiver. She looked entirely unconvinced, gestured that his next patient was ready, and fled. “Never mind, I have to go. I’m stopping by St. Anne’s, the shops and the butchers on my way home, so I’ll be quite late. Shall I ask the sitter to keep Rosie tonight?”

          Sherlock was indignant, “Certainly not, John! I’m capable of looking after her.”

          John softened, unable to keep from smiling, “I know you are, thought you might have plans, is all.”

          “Nothing important. She and I shall be fine. I’ll pick her up at the usual time and see she’s fed and had her bath.” He paused, “Would you like me to keep her awake so you can be there when she opens the Advent Calendar?”

          Heart turning to mush, John agreed, and disconnected, stowing his phone away and turning his mind to work.

 

******

 

          Rocking his way home on the bus, John shifted his bags until he could free up a hand and slowly pecked out a message with his thumb, trying not to elbow the bloke next to him. He was eager to get home, put away the party supplies and groceries—sans sawdust—and be there in time for their new nightly ritual. Out of all the surprising aspects of raising a child with Sherlock, the Advent Calendar had to be one of the most surprising.

          Sherlock had brought it out of his room the year before, as if it weren’t as odd an item for him to have as it would be for Rosie to own a hatchet. It was an old, hand-crafted, multi-compartmented box, with tiny doors decorated with scenes cut out of Christmas cards. It was obviously something that had belonged to his childhood, although, as with so much else that touched on that time, John hadn’t asked.

          John was allowed to help choose items to go in each day’s cubby, but many of them were selected by Sherlock. Sherlock jealously guarded the calendar, tucking the items away so that even John didn’t know what each day held. He could have peeked, of course, but somehow it would have felt like a violation of Sherlock’s trust, as if he didn’t think him capable of finding items appropriate for Rosie’s age and interest. It was a tradition that meant enough to Sherlock to pass it on to his god-daughter, and John loved that he cared so much.

          He’d come to love the nightly ritual, and so far neither of them had missed it.

          “Finally home!” John announced, fumbling with the door handle. He smiled at his sleepy daughter tucked into Sherlock’s arms, wrapped snugly in her favourite knitted blanket from Mrs. Hudson. “Hello darling, give me a minute and I’ll come tell you hello.”

          “Daddy,” Rosie brightened, sitting upright on Sherlock’s lap, “You home!” She turned and beamed at Sherlock, “Lockie, Daddy’s home!”

          “I see that,” Sherlock said gently, standing and carrying her with him into the kitchen, “No, you can’t get down, bee, you took your socks off like a naughty girl, remember?”

          She stared down at her toes and curled them, as if just noticing. “Warm me?” She asked hopefully, sticking one small foot out. Sherlock laughed, and switched her weight to one arm, easily folding both her feet into his large hand.

          “Better?”

          “Un-huh,” nodding emphatically, Rosie watched with interest as John unloaded the bags, “We have ice cream?”

          “Not tonight,” John answered, amazed at how calm he sounded. It was taking everything he had not to cross the kitchen, put his arm around his daughter and Sherlock and kiss the man breathless. He loved Sherlock for so much more than his tenderness and concern for Rosie, but that was a large part of it as well. Lately John had found himself wondering if Sherlock would ever want to lavish that tenderness on anyone other than Rosie. _Like me_ , his treacherous brain supplied; he concentrated on fighting the thought down and behaving normally.

         

******

 

I’ve already expressed my regrets to

Sherlock. I find myself unable to attend.

But thank you for your invitation, John.

MH {Received 20:36}

 

Your call. Just thought you

might like not spending

the 24th alone. Technically

Rosie is your niece, and she

won’t have any memories of

Uncle Mycroft if you’re never

around.

JW {Sent 20:41}

 

I’m sure she shan’t notice

my absence nor presence.

MH {Received 20:49}

 

Oh, and Greg asked if you

would be there.

JW {Sent 20:56}

 

…

…

…

Well if you think the child

would really miss me.

MH {Received 20:57}

 

See you at 5.

JW {Sent 21:02}

 

Greg, mate, you owe me.

John {Sent 21:02}

 

I’ve kept more secrets for

you two than there are in

the Book of Secrets. I owe

you nothing except a drink.

Greg {Received 21:15}

 

And even THAT is debatable

given how many times I’ve

stood you a round.

Greg {Received 21:17}

 

Mycroft will be there.

John {Sent 21:23}

 

Fancy a drink?  
Greg {Received 21:23}

 

Keep your tired pick up

lines for Mycroft, why don’t

you? See you there at 5.

John {Sent 21:40}

 

_23 rd December_

          “Nice to see you smiling, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, retying the bow over the mantle. She stepped back to admire her handiwork and sat down on the sofa, sighing, “I’m run ragged! That Rosie is a pip!”

          “Thanks again for watching her this morning, Mrs. Hudson,” John had to fight down a wave of guilt. “I know she’s all energy and mischief these days. If my sitter hadn’t gotten sick I wouldn’t have asked.”

          “Keeps me young,” she smiled, but she looked decidedly tired. “Though mind you, I think two or three hours is my limit.”

          “Let me make you a cup of tea,” John offered, putting aside his laptop and standing. “Might even have some biscuits if Sherlock and Rosie haven’t snuck them all.”

          “You sound happy,” their landlady mused, getting comfortable and putting her feet up. “Are you seeing someone, John?”

          He paused, putting down the kettle and turning to look at her. She smiled blandly back. “Why would you ask that?”

          “Oh…just the way you’ve been humming lately. And you seem sort of,” Mrs. Hudson waved one hand about, “elated sometimes, but moody others.” Bright eyes regarded him intently, “Like a man in love.”

          “Humming?” John asked, utterly mystified.

          She pursed her lips, trilled a tune which seemed vaguely familiar to John. Mrs. Hudson’s memory must be slipping though, as he wasn’t one for humming. Sherlock was the musical one.

          “Must be thinking of someone else,” he said, turning back to the kettle. “I’m not in love.”

 

Sherlock’s To Do list

_~~ale, wine & mixers~~  ~~LEMONADE, SODA & SPARKLING WATER!!!~~_

~~_nuts, crisps_~~ **_~~&~~_** ** _ ~~those sesame things~~_** ** _Need more sesame things_**

~~_Xmas napkins & plates_ ~~

~~_table cloth_~~ **_Why?_** _Because the table looks like you’ve disemboweled a body on it!_

 ~~ _Gingerbread house for Rosie,_ _cookies & biscuits, mince pies_~~ **_Ask Mrs. Hudson, she’ll be thrilled_** _( _She was, ta, Sherlock)__

_~~Cheese tray, veg,~~ ~~see if butchers have specials?~~ Should I just make sandwiches? _ **_~~The thing with peas?~~ _ **

_~~Mistletoe~~_ **_mistletoe_** _Not for the party—I only make that for you_

_~~greenery~~ (ask Mrs. H where to get)---tree lot behind St. Anne’s_

~~_party dress for Ro_ ~~

_~~new shirt for me?~~ _ **_~~God yes, please buy a new shirt.~~ _ ** **_Actually, never mind that, John._ **

~~**_milk_ ** ~~

~~**_lightbulbs_ ** ~~

**_new kitchen knives_ ** _You owe me a set of knives_

~~**_sleepytime bubble bath_ ** ~~

**_Pomegranates_ ** _They were out, got oranges, pears & the grapes that cost a fortune_

**_sawdust_ ** _NO_

~~**_Roquefort_ ** ~~

**_honeycomb_ ** _Couldn’t find any_

**_bleach_ ** _Under the kitchen sink—need help w/ the child lock?_

~~**_bin liners_ ** ~~

~~**_that ice cream I like_ ** ~~

~~**_that ice cream Rosie likes_ ** ~~

_That ice cream John likes_

John, where can I go to buy

Mistletoe, sawdust, honeycomb,

bleach, ice cream, pomegranates,

kitchen knives & men’s shirts?  
SH {Received 09:19}

 

John?

SH {Received 09:59}

 

John, Mrs. Hudson

may be drunk. She told me

to get stuffed.

SH {Received 10:27}

 

I wasn’t allowed a mince pie either.

SH {Received 10:30}

 

John?

SH {Received 11:13}

 

Joooooooohn?

SH {Received 11:41}

 

Sherlock, for God’s sake,

you’re a genius, figure it out!

John {Sent 12:22}

 

The shops are dull.

SH {Received 13:46}

 

And full of people.

SH {Received 14:06}

 

MAKE THE CHRISTMAS

MUSIC STOP!!!!

SH {Received 14:07}

 

John, did you know

they have 37 different

kinds of ice cream at

the shops?!

SH {Received 14:23}

 

Why do you always say

they’re out?  
SH {Received 14:24}

 

I’ve just had an altercation

with the schoolboy masquerading

as the “manager.” I’ve been asked

to leave.

SH {Received 14:51}

 

New store. I don’t see

bone saws anywhere.

SH {Received 15:23}

 

Going to ask.

SH {Received 15:25}

 

Been asked to leave again. They’re

so rude. And you say I have no

manners, John.

SH {Received 15:34}

 

I’m tired, I’m going to have

chips on my way home. I’ll

email you the list & you can

get it. You enjoy this sort

of mindless task.  
SH {Received 15:40}

 

…

 

Actually, it will be far simpler

if I just tell you what I DID

get at the shops.

SH {Received 15:42}

 

Honeycomb.

SH {Received 15:43}

 

…

…

…

 

John, I can see you typing—

why aren’t you sending me

a message?  
SH {Received 15:49}

 

I got your “list” thanks.

John {Sent 15:52}

 

You’re welcome, John.

SH {Received 16:04}

 

~~Sherlock’s To Do list~~ **_ John’s To Do List _ **

~~_ale, wine & mixers  LEMONADE, SODA & SPARKLING WATER!!!_ ~~

~~_nuts, crisps_ **_&_** **_those sesame things_** ** _Need more sesame things_**~~

~~_Xmas napkins & plates_ ~~

~~_table cloth_~~    ** _Why?_** _Because the table looks like you’ve disemboweled a body on it!_

~~_Gingerbread house for Rosie,_ _cookies & biscuits, mince pies_ ~~ **_Ask Mrs. Hudson, she’ll be thrilled_ **

_~~Cheese tray, veg,~~ ~~see if butchers have specials?~~ Should I just make sandwiches? _ **_~~The thing with peas?~~ _ **

_~~Mistletoe~~_ **_mistletoe_** _Not for the party—I only make that for you_

_~~greenery~~ (ask Mrs. H where to get)---tree lot behind St. Anne’s_

~~_party dress for Ro_ ~~

_~~new shirt for me?~~ _ **_~~God yes, please buy a new shirt.~~ _ ** **_Actually, never mind that, John._ **

~~**_milk_ ** ~~

~~**_lightbulbs_ ** ~~

**_new kitchen knives_ ** _You owe me a set of knives_

~~**_sleepytime bubble bath_ ** ~~

**_Pomegranates_ ** _They were out, got oranges, pears & the grapes that cost a fortune _ **_Not pomegranates_ **

**_sawdust_ ** _NO_

~~**_Roquefort_ ** ~~

~~**_honeycomb_ ** ~~ _Couldn’t find any_ **_You see, but you do not observe_ **

**_bleach_ ** _Under the kitchen sink—need help w/ the child lock?_ **_Yes please_ **

**_bin liners_ **

**_t ~~hat ice cream I like~~_ **

~~**_that ice cream Rosie likes_ ** ~~

_That ice cream John likes_

 

          Just when John was ready to throttle him, Sherlock would do something unexpectedly sweet and thoughtful (actually, he was thoughtful much more than people might expect, but it was always a strange sort of thoughtful, like cataloguing back copies of The Lancet that John had been intending on throwing out, or indexing John’s holey socks). Tonight, when he came home tired and crabby from a full day of work, exhausted from riding the bus, slogging through three different shops, and struggling home laden with bags, John had been prepared to find very little lovable about his friend.

          But then he walked in to a merry fire, a pink-cheeked and freshly bathed child, fairy lights twinkling on the tree, and the delicious smells of dinner from Angelo’s. Sherlock, who had been playing a sprightly little tune on his violin for Rosie’s amusement, turned on the hearth rug and smiled so happily at the sight of him, that John let his resentment flow out of him like stagnant water being washed from a shallow pool. Honestly, aside from her homemade bread and her ability to mother Rosie, Mary hadn’t been a very domestic spouse either. He was used to taking care of the shopping.

          “Daddy!” Rosie slid down out of his chair and ran over to him. John set down his bags hastily and stooped to catch her, tossing her up in the air and then catching her and kissing her noisily all over her face. She giggled, trying to return the favour, until his face was spitty and moist and they were both laughing. John looked up over her head and the look on Sherlock’s face punched him in the gut. Love, longing, tenderness and so much sadness that John staggered slightly. Instantly, Sherlock’s face smoothed out and he smiled, turning to put his violin away. “Excellent timing, John. Angelo delivered the food only a short time ago, and this one here,” he nodded at Rosie, “has had her bath, her tv hour, and has been anxiously awaiting your return.”

          “Daddy,” Rosie said urgently, putting her hands on his cheeks and turning his head so he was looking at her, “Can we open da calendler now?”

          “Calendar,” Sherlock corrected automatically, “And not until _after_ dinner, Miss bee.”

          A bit of pouting was luckily salved by dinner, and before long they were putting away leftovers and tucking takeaway boxes into the bins. “Up!” Rosie demanded, trying to climb Sherlock’s long leg. He picked her up and carried her over to the mantel, where the Advent Calendar was waiting. Rosie reached out for the silver bead glued on in lieu of a door handle, and pinched it delicately between thumb and forefinger.

          “What is it?” John asked, peering over Sherlock’s shoulder.

          “Oooh!” A soft squeal rose in volume, until they both hastily hushed her. She dropped her voice to a whisper which could have been heard at the bus stop, “It’s sparkly!”

          John reached in and pulled it out, letting the thin chain unspool until a small, heart shaped gold charm with tiny diamond chips swung from his hand. Rosie reached for it, hugging it to her, “Is mine?”

          “All yours,” John said after a moment, eyes flicking to Sherlock, who was watching Rosie, his eyes tender as a bruise. He had to clear his own throat, “I think it’s a locket, Ro.”

          “What’s ‘at?”

          “A tiny book you can keep pictures in…shall we see if there’s anything inside?” John took it from her and managed to get the edge of one nail in the opening, flicking the two sides open. Inside was a tiny picture of him on the left, and Mary on the right. John felt his breath leave him and looked at Sherlock mutely. His friend was staring back, although he quickly looked away, and cleared his throat, helping Rosie put it on, explaining that lockets were somewhere you kept pictures of loved ones.

          “Tell Uncle Sherlock thank you for your locket, Rosie, love,” John prompted huskily.

          She turned and hugged him tightly around the neck, “Thank you, Lockie. I lob my rocket.”

          Clearly too touched to even correct her, Sherlock hugged her back, hiding his face momentarily in her curls. John took a shallow, shaky breath, and curled his hands into fists. No matter how badly he wanted, he couldn’t put his arms around them both. But his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the look on Sherlock’s face when John and Rosie had been kissing and playing. It looked very much like the face of a man in love.

 

_24 th December_

          Fighting another yawn—he’d passed a fairly sleepless night—John climbed to the top of the ladder and held up the push pin with the ribbon and mistletoe dangling from it. “Here?”

          “No, dear, that’s not in the center at all.” Mrs. Hudson directed him to move it to the left. To the right. Not that far right, obviously. Back. Oh dear, he was rubbish at this wasn’t he?   

          “Mrs. Hudson, would you rather come up here and hang it in the right spot?” John finally asked in desperation.

          “Don’t be ridiculous, John,” Sherlock remonstrated, coming into the room, “Mrs. Hudson is seventy-six years old, she shouldn’t be climbing ladders.” He stopped, eyed the mistletoe critically. “Oh that will never do. That’s all wrong.”

          As Mrs. Hudson reminded them tartly that she was only seventy-three, thank you very much, and perfectly capable of climbing ladders if she wanted, only she didn’t want—Sherlock stepped up on the ladder behind John, one step down, and put his arms around him. John went red and clung to the ladder, feeling every inch of Sherlock pressed up against him, the delicious warmth of his body seeping into John’s, the faint smell of tobacco, shampoo and chemicals invading his senses. Closing his eyes briefly, John prayed desperately for help.

          “You’ll never get it in the right place with your eyes closed, John,” Sherlock teased, voice low in his ear. His warm breath fanned damply over the side of John’s neck, tickled his ear. His eyes popped open and he hoped Sherlock thought he was just scared of heights or something. “You’re very close…just a hairsbreadth away from getting it right.”

          “Am I?” John asked thinly, hand shaking as Sherlock’s closed over it and guided him to the right place. Oh God, he was giving himself away spectacularly; Sherlock would have to be Anderson not to notice John falling apart in his arms.

          “There!” Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands, “Come down now and fix that bit over the front door, Sherlock. John got that wrong too.”

          “I get a lot wrong,” John said faintly, watching as Sherlock moved off of the ladder.

          “Oh, not everything,” Sherlock said softly, meeting his eyes for a moment. But then he blushed rather spectacularly and turned away, leaving John reeling.

          Sherlock Holmes had blushed. Over _him_.

 

******

 

          “What is that tune?” Mrs. Hudson asked, “You boys keep humming it and it’s sending me spare that I can’t place it.” She hummed a bit, “I know I know it.” Smoothing out the table cloth John had already placed on the kitchen table, “It’s a love song, isn’t it?”

          Neither of them answered her. Sherlock frequently ignored her, but John was reeling still from the moment on the ladder, the stolen looks of the night before, the blush. And now his head was washed in confusion, because he’d just worked out which song they were both humming. Because now that Mrs. Hudson called him on it mid-hum, John realized that not only was he humming, but _what_ he was humming.

          Dream a Little Dream…the song Sherlock sang to Rosie, with such love in his voice. A love song. And there they both were, humming it. Didn’t have to mean anything, of course, but John’s heart was beating hard enough to give him a shaky sense of exhilaration. Maybe it did mean something to Sherlock. Taken in consideration with all those other signs…John was starting to hope.

          He looked at Sherlock, but the other man was concentrating on the punch he was making; concentrating far harder than needed for something so simple. If John hadn’t known better, he would have thought that Sherlock was overseeing a dangerous chemical experiment, for him to be so focused on his task. John watched him, mind busy.

 

******

 

~~Sherlock’s To Do list~~ **_ John’s To Do List _ **

~~_ale, wine & mixers  LEMONADE, SODA & SPARKLING WATER!!!_ ~~

~~_nuts, crisps_ **_&_** **_those sesame things_** ** _Need more sesame things_**~~

~~_Xmas napkins & plates_ ~~

~~_table cloth_~~ **_Why?_** _~~Because the table looks like you’ve disemboweled a body on it!~~_

 ~~ _Gingerbread house for Rosie,_ _cookies & biscuits, mince pies_~~ **_Ask Mrs. Hudson, she’ll be thrilled_**

 _ ~~Cheese tray, veg, see if butchers have specials?~~ _ _Should I just make sandwiches? ~~ **Th**~~_ ** _ ~~ **e** thing with peas?~~_**

 _ ~~Mistletoe~~_ **_~~mistletoe~~                                                        _** _Not for the party—I only make that for you_

_~~greenery~~ (ask Mrs. H where to get)---tree lot behind St. Anne’s_

~~_party dress for Ro_ ~~

_~~new shirt for me?~~ _ **_~~God yes, please buy a new shirt.~~ _ ** **_Actually, never mind that, John._ **

~~**_milk_ ** ~~

~~**_lightbulbs_ ** ~~

**_new kitchen knives_ ** _You owe me a set of knives_

~~**_sleepytime bubble bath_ ** ~~

**_Pomegranates_ ** _They were out, got oranges, pears & the grapes that cost a fortune _ **_Not pomegranates_ **

**_~~sawdust~~ _ ** _NO ~~~~_

**_~~Roquefort~~ _ **

~~**_honeycomb_ ** ~~ _Couldn’t find any_ **_You see, but you do not observe_ **

**_bleach_ ** _Under the kitchen sink—need help w/ the child lock?_ **_Yes please_ **

~~**_bin liners_ ** ~~

~~**_that ice cream I like_ ** ~~

~~**_that ice cream Rosie likes_ ** ~~

~~_That ice cream John likes_ ~~

******

 

          “Oh, John!” Molly enthused, turning so he could take her coat, “Everything looks so pretty!” She turned back to face the room, smiling; clasping her hands under chin she cried, “Rosie-posy! Look how beautiful and grown up you are tonight, precious!”

          Rosie heartlessly turned her back on Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Turner and flung herself upon her god-mother, suffering a rain of kisses before demanding that Aunt Molly look at her necklace from Daddy and Lockie. “Is for keeping pitchers of people you love,” the small girl informed her, trying to open it.

          “Thanks for the invite, John,” Molly’s boyfriend Colin said in his quiet voice, “Molly’s right, it looks properly Christmassy in here.”

          John answered him, although he was barely aware of what he said. Instead he was watching Molly open the locket for Rosie, his eyes moving to Sherlock, who was standing nearby, talking with Greg. He watched the long lines of the younger man’s body turn from fluid grace to waiting tension when Molly’s clear tone exclaimed, “Ohh, a picture of your Mummy and Daddy on their wedding day!”

          Sherlock’s head turned fractionally, his attention now completely diverted from Greg, who looked from him to John and whose face underwent a slight change.

          “An’ on the nother side is Lockie!” Rosie pressed entirely moist and noisy kisses on the pictures and smiled at it. “Daddy put Lockie in for me.”

          “I did,” John agreed easily, despite his faint blush, moving to join them. He was hyper aware of Sherlock standing just a foot away, his back to them, true, but all of his focus on what was happening. Pitching his voice slightly louder, “A locket is for keeping pictures of people you love.”

          “Punch!” Sherlock said suddenly, lunging toward the kitchen. Molly looked startled, Greg grinned, and John wanted to follow him. But it wasn’t the time. They had a party to host. Later, however…

 

******

 

_Later…_

          “Think this is the first time one of our parties ended early for a good reason,” John joked, scooping Rosie up from her nest on the sofa. He headed for the stairs, “Let me get this little one in bed and then I’ll come down and we can have a drink and a gossip before we put away the food.”

          “No!” Rosie whined, coming awake from her drowse. She scowled at him, “Lockie has to sing me my song.”

          “Not tonight, love, it’s late. You have to get to sleep for Father Christmas to come, hmm?”

          “Daddy!” Her face crumpled at the beginning signs of a tantrum.

          “I don’t think a few minutes more will matter, will it John?” Sherlock said mildly, coming up behind him and pushing him gently up the stairs. “Better to spare a few minutes for that than a half an hour calming down a raging child.”

          He had a point. John got Rosie changed and then Sherlock picked her up and cradled her in his arms, pretending she was getting too big and heavy for him to hold, and spurring giggles from Rosie, who clung to him. Adjusting his hold, Sherlock began singing, smiling down at her.

          Tonight, instead of leaning in the doorway, John crossed the room, heart shuddering in his chest, and stood close to Sherlock, who gave him one startled look before continuing his song. His focus remained on Rosie, almost unnaturally so. Particularly considering that he didn’t look at John even when John dared to put an arm around his back and lean against him.

          The unaccustomed tremor in Sherlock’s voice gave John tremendous hope.

          Rosie was nearly asleep when Sherlock finished the song, and she murmured, protesting, when they laid her in bed, but was content to snuggle with her stuffed elephant under her quilts as they kissed her goodnight and stole out of the room. “This will probably be the last year we can get her to bed so easily on Christmas Eve,” John laughed as they made their way back downstairs. Frankly he was amazed at how normal he sounded, how calm. He paused at the doorway to the kitchen, “Cocoa, wine or maybe some coffee with brandy?”

          “Wine,” Sherlock said after a micropause. He stood in the doorway and watched as John reached down two clean glasses and uncorked one of the unfinished bottles. John kept his eyes firmly off of the mistletoe hanging in the doorway. If this all went poorly, he supposed he could blame his actions on mistletoe and too much wine.

          “Here you are,” John said, standing too close. He felt almost sick with nerves. Not giving himself any more time to think about it—and he’d thought of almost nothing else for hours—John leaned in, one hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, and kissed him.

          Sherlock tasted of chocolate and wine and surprise, and his soft lips trembled against John’s before he stilled. John opened his eyes, saw the look of confusion and longing—with longing dominating—in Sherlock’s jade green irises and smiled, kissing him again, softly. His own uncertainty had vanished with the first touch of their lips, and happiness rose in him, as bright as sunshine and as intoxicating as helium. Nipping softly at Sherlock’s bottom lip, John hummed, “Alright?”

          “I—a-alright.”

          “Is it?” John cupped his palm around Sherlock’s jaw and pulled away, looking into his eyes, “You can say no if you don’t want this.”

          Sherlock licked his pink lips and John stifled a longing groan. “It’s not that I don’t want it…”

          Hairline cracks appeared in John’s heart, and he swallowed, stepping back, trying to tuck his unseemly emotions back inside. “Oh. Right. You just—”

          “I do want it,” Sherlock continued, sounding confused, “But I thought you weren’t…” His expression was full of warring emotions, and it filled John with a fierce protectiveness.

          “I…” John laughed soundlessly, grip tightening around the fragile stem of the wineglass in his hand. Christ, he was going to need a serious drink if this all went south. “I was…wrong. Confused? Mistaken? I don’t know.” He swallowed dryly, heart in his throat, “I only know I’ve been falling in love with you so slowly and sweetly I almost didn’t notice it at first…God, maybe it’s been happening from the first day I met you, I really don’t—I really don’t know any more when I started loving you—”

          “You—” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, “John, you l-love me?” He opened his eyes, scanning John’s face as if he could read the truth written there. Perhaps he could. “I thought this was just…lust. Too much drink.” He pressed his lips together and regarded John with achingly hopeful eyes.

          “Did you think I just wanted a one-off?” John asked in amazement. He took Sherlock’s wine from him, turned and put both glasses on the counter. Turning back he took Sherlock’s hands in his and gathered his courage, “No. Sherlock, I don’t want more than you’re willing to give. But I want all of whatever that is.” He blinked damp eyes, looked away for a minute, gathering composure. “I’m offering you all of me.”

          Sherlock might have said his name, but it was lost in his emotion-laden voice and swallowed by the delicious kisses he pressed upon John.  Kisses soft and full and lush, and shorter more enthusiastic kisses pressed to eyelids and temples and stubble-rough jawlines. Kisses that tasted of love and desperation and thankfulness. John found himself breathless and dizzy and with an armful of loving genius.  “Oh…” Sherlock sighed, countless minutes later, “Do that again, John.”

          “This?” John teased gently, running one hand up into the short curls at the back of Sherlock’s head and tipping his head to one side so he could kiss the length of his neck, relishing the throb of Sherlock’s carotid against his lips. “Mmm…you taste wonderful.”

          “That _feels_ wonderful,” Sherlock half sighed, arms wrapped snugly around John as he nuzzled the side of his head, “Oh, John, this is all so…”

          “I know,” John assured him, voice husky, hearing that overwhelmed note that filled him with tenderness. He had so much love and tenderness to lavish on this man, and it looked like he was finally going to be allowed to do so. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it, love?”

          “The best Christmas of my life,” Sherlock sighed with complete candor and sincerity. He brought his hands up to cup either side of John’s and looked into his eyes, serious and solemn, and glowing with happiness, “I love you, John Watson.”

          It took a moment for John to swallow down the glut of emotion that threatened to steal his voice. At last he said roughly, never having meant the words more, “I love you too, Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock was right, it was the best, most magical Christmas of his life. And together they had years ahead of them to grow more magical still.


End file.
